with Fred and George's birthday.

They were certainly in for a surprise when they woke up with a nutcracker-sized marching band marching on the floor with plates of breakfast bewitched to follow them in their wake. Not only were there several gifts surrounding their beds as there was every year, but there was also a giant banner hanging from their bedposts saying in large gold letters 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRED & FORGE'. Their friends surrounded their dorm room, wearing party hats and carrying plates of food.

"Happy birthday!" Margaret exclaims cheerfully, putting her plate on the bedside table and hugging Fred who was beaming excitedly.

"Did you do all this?!" asks George from the bed opposite, already opening up the cards he had gotten.

"With some help!" she shouts, her voice muffled in Fred's shoulder, who refused to let her go. He nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck, knowing she was ticklish, and she laughed, trying to squirm away from him.

"Did you get any sleep at all, pumpkin?" asks Fred, her scent of cocoa the best thing to wake up to.

"I was too excited to sleep!" she answers, swaying them slightly.

He wished he could just lay back and go to sleep with her in his arms, but there were too many people around at this ungodly hour of - he peeked at the clock above the window - six-thirty in the morning... Besides she had clearly worked hard for this.

"Fred!" she drawls, shaking with laughter. "C'mon, you've got to open all the gifts everyone's got you-!"

"No."

"Mrs Weasley's parcel barely got through Umbridge's screening process on time-"

"I don't wanna let go," he groans into her hair playfully.

"Fred!" she laughs. "Come on!"

"I'm the birthday boy- man?"

"Yes, you're the birthday boy-man," she jokes, squealing when he pokes her waist to tickle her. "We can cuddle later-"

He perked up. "Promise?"

Margaret laughed. "I promise."

Fred nodded, finally releasing her from his hug. Still chuckling, she used telekinesis to lift the plates of breakfast over to the twins on their beds.

"Happy birthday," Harry says to them from where he took a seat on the end of George's bed. He chuckled as Ron nearly tripped over the marching band, his plate raised above his head.

"Bloody hell," says Ron, stumbling over to the window where Hermione was sat, drinking coffee. "A menace, those toys."

"Oi! You're just jealous 'cause you didn't wake up to such awesomeness," says Fred. "Thanks, pumpkin."

"If Ron had his way, he would just stay in bed on his birthday," Ginny says, looking amused as she sat cross-legged on Lee's bed with him.

"When it's my birthday, I'd rather do what I like," he says with defiance.

"Which is eat and sleep," Harry comments teasingly, ducking as Ron threw at him a pillow from Fred's bed.

Fred protested, his words entirely illegible with his mouth full.

"Careful, or you'll spill the food," says Hermione.

Once they were done eating, the twins moved to sit on the ground to open their many gifts.

Many of their friends from the seventh year had joined them in the dorm, which was now entirely filled with people chatting, drinking butterbeer that Lee had sneaked from the kitchens, all of them rather excited for April Fools.

The twins had a peculiar way of exchanging their gifts before even opening them, which was rather fun to watch. Lee and Ron joined them in opening the presents while Harry and Ginny placed the opened ones on the beds.

Margaret drifted off to the side for a little while. She watched Fred and George joke with a nostalgic smile, her mind wandering to the past – her past.

"Lightsabers!"

Two voices exclaimed at once, having opened the long packages that had immediately caught their attention once they woke up. The Lightsabers lit up in different colours.

Margaret and Markus scanned them for a second then exchanged them wordlessly so that Margaret had the green one and Markus the red one.

"May the Force be with you!" said Markus before they began to strike each other's lightsabers.

Their mother walked into the room, resting her hands on her hips at the sight of the twins. "Did you brush your teeth?"

The two paused, exchanging a playfully panicked look. They turned off their lightsabers, threw them on their beds and ran past their mother.

"Moooom!" Mark's voice boomed from the bathroom.

"What?"

"Can we have chocolate for breakfast?" asked Margaret.

"Absolutely not."

"But, we're big now!" said Margaret.

"Yeah! We are ten! Ten is a big number!" added Markus.

"Oh yeah?" Their father appeared in the door, leaning on the door frame, a brow raised in amusement as he stared at the two in the mirror. The twins grinned a toothpaste-filled grin and their father laughed. "How does chocolate chip pancakes sound, eh?"

"YAH!"

"You spoil them too much," said their mother, teasingly looking at the two.

"Oh, c'mon, Athena. It's their birthday," he said, kissing her forehead and causing the twins to gag.

They leaned forward to spit their toothpaste at the exact moment their mother stiffened at their father's affection, the playfulness fading. He, however, did notice, watching blankly as she turned and walked away.

Turning back to the twins, he said smiled again. "Come on, get ready, you two. I have something very special for you."

"On a scale of Jimmie's Dad's garage to Disneyland, how special is it?" asked Margaret, an identical questioning look on her brother's face as they watched him in the mirror.

He hummed. "A good twelve, I would say. So, maybe, Disneyland, Paris in spring?"

"Awesome!" exclaimed Margaret, whilst Markus looked unimpressed.

"Eh, I would say that's a seven on the scale."

"You're barking," Margaret told him.

"Woof woof," he grinned, causing her to give him a daft look.

She turned back to their father, walking out of the bathroom. "Can you disown siblings, Dad?"

"No, you can't," he told her, shaking his head in detached amusement as Markus made faces behind her.

After they got ready with their mother's help, their father returned to their room with two velvet boxes in his hand. The twins ooh-ed at the sight of them, scurrying over to him as he sat down on Margaret's bed. Their mother stayed to the side, folding the laundry and watching the exchange.

He opened the boxes to reveal two identical necklaces, each with a silver chain and a locket shaped like a sun with an emerald in middle.

"These are two of the Armstrong family heirlooms. Your mother's parents gave them to us at our wedding, and now we want you to have them," their father said slowly, pulling the box slightly when Markus reached out to touch one. "Each has a locket in which we can put photos of your choice. I'll give them to you after the party tonight... but you both must promise me that you will not take them off once you put them on."

They nodded rapidly, eyes wide a little too innocently.

"I mean it," he said, giving them both a stern look before looking down at the lockets. "As long as you both have one, you will always – always – have each other. No matter where you are."

"You miss him, don't you? Your brother."

Hermione's soft voice snapped Margaret out of her trance and she realised she was gripping her necklace so hard that the edges of the sun-shaped locket had almost bit into her fingertips.

Letting it go, she shook her head at Hermione's question, attempting to give her a smile. Hermione smiled sympathetically.

"I'm fine- really," Margaret says, her voice cracking slightly. She sighs. "It's just... sometimes some things remind me of him. It's not so bad anymore, I swear... I, well, I don't feel guilty for... being happy without him, y'know?" she admits quietly, giving her a small smile.

Hermione smiled back, pulling her into a side hug. "We're here for you, Margaret. You're not alone."

She looked around at all her friends, chatting and laughing casually. Fred caught her eye, gesturing her to join him on the floor. And she realised that Hermione was right.

She was not alone. Not anymore.

Since it was also April Fools, the twins had a blast pranking anyone and everyone for the rest of the day. Except Margaret. Not after last time, and especially since she had gone out of her way to plan a party in the Gryffindor common room without their knowledge.

Their faces had been priceless when the two of them returned after pulling a prank on Professor McGonagall and found nearly the entire house shouting HAPPY BIRTHDAY! with enchanted confetti falling from the high ceiling and more banners of their names saying things like 'Go Weasleys!' and artworks of their faces that some talented groups of first and second years had made.

The party went well, surprisingly not hindered by Umbridge, since Lee, Angelina and a few others had worked on putting silencing charms on the portrait hole and the windows in the common room so that not a peep of the blasting bass of the Weird Sisters was heard outside.

Hagrid had been invited, of course, even Luna, Cho, and other D.A. members.

When the initial excitement wore off a bit, Fred and George pulled Margaret aside, looking rather surprised by the effort she had put into it all.

"You know we didn't want anything fancy-schmancy, right?" says Fred, looking bewildered. George jabbed him in the ribs. "Oh no, not to sound ungrateful; 'cause this is sick! The good kind of sick- not-"

"I know, I geddit," she says, grinning. "Well, I wanted to. It's your last year at Hogwarts and you've given a lot to the school so..." she shrugs modestly.

"Yeah, a lot of maintenance bills," comments George, causing her to laugh.

"No - well, yes - but that's not what I mean. See, laughter is important too! And you gave seven years of it to everyone. This is the least we could do... Anyway, you're the stars today," she tells them, turning them both around and pushing them towards the crowd of their many friends. "Go, have fun!"

Fred grabbed her hand, pulling her to him so they were pressed against each other. Before she knew it, his lips were on hers in a spontaneous kiss. People around them woo-ed and cheered and applauded. George shook his head at them with a smile, giving them some space.

"I adore you... you know that?" Fred says breathlessly as they pull back slightly for air. Margaret couldn't stop smiling as she kissed him again, arms wrapping around his neck.

sat on the windowsill, tweeting sweetly.

The spring air wafted in from the open windows, shafts of soft sunlight falling on their open books. The sounds of flipping pages, quills scratching against parchments, books stacking themselves high on the shelves and the occasional birds chirping filled the air.

Draco glanced up discreetly, only to find her face half-hidden by the parchment of translation he had written, a small crease between her brows as she read it. What bothered him, however, was the pencil stuck over her ear. It gave her otherwise put-together appearance a hint of messiness. He wondered if she had forgotten about it.

It was strange to find them together on a mid-April afternoon, in the library nonetheless. Their usual meetings were reserved for the evenings after classes, outside in the boathouse where no one could see them together.

It had been another condition he had set, not being seen with her at any cost. Draco had a reputation to uphold. He, however, also wanted to be over with the book as soon as possible so that their agreement could come to an end and he could finally tell his mother about what he had found.

Initially, the pair of them got on each other's nerves so much they barely had any work done. Then almost a week after he had thrown that book at her head, which was something she was never going to let him live down, they came to a sort of unspoken agreement to just translate the book. With the occasional bit of pushing each other's buttons, they mostly minded their own business, ignoring the other's presence and trying to figure out the absurd things that the book said.

"As far as I can gather," Draco says one weekend night, stretching back on his chair, "this is divided into three parts. Or so I hope..."

"What d'you mean?" asks she, taking a sip of her coffee.

"I'm getting there," he snaps. "We've translated the first part - it's mostly familial values and virtues in French. The same bunch of things nearly all pureblood families have written in their ancestral documents; which are records of any and all achievements through all family members' lives-"

"My Dad had something like that!" she perks up. "He always kept them in the bank, though. Once or twice when he brought it out and showed it to us, it was mostly little to big achievements of our great-grand relatives like winning the lottery or getting elected as the Mayor..."

Noticing the blank look on Draco's face, she trailed off.

"As I was saying, before being rudely interrupted," he continues, making her narrow her eyes at him, "This does suggest that your surname could be pureblood... Although I've looked into records, and I can't find Xenakis anywhere."

"Well, obviously not," she states, taking another sip of her coffee. "It could have changed over the years, we don't know how long ago this was written. As far as I know, there was no witch or wizard in my family before me... and..."

She broke off, wondering why she just blurted that put. Glancing down at the mug of coffee that he had brought her, she frowned before realisation dawned on her face.

"You spiked my drink," she grits out, "with Veritaserum."

Draco only gave a half-shrug, taking a sip of his own coffee. "I honestly don't know what you were expecting."

"We decided you'd tell me when you do that!" she snaps, more annoyed at herself than at him for believing he would actually get her something without ulterior motives.

"No," he denies, putting down his cup before looking up at her from where he sat on his chair, amusement shining in his grey eyes, "We decided I'd use Veritaserum on you. Since you can read my mind whenever you like, it's only fair if the rules apply both ways."

"You're a prat, you know that?" she says truthfully without meaning to.

Draco's lips twitched upwards. He briefly glanced down at the mug she was clutching.

"At least I know you're telling the truth, and that you come from a family of Squibs." A grimace crosses his face. "What a pity..."

She shook her head, putting the mug on the railing and moving away from it.

His grey eyes narrowed. Margaret did not look like a ghost; could it be that the book was telling when she was going to die? Although it did not note the dates of death for the other members of the family, only for her supposed great-grandparents, grandparents, aunt, her alleged twin brother and herself...

"Are you done checking me out?"

Margaret's voice snapped him out of his thoughts, making him crash back into the library.

Quickly looking down at the massive and brand new book of Latin translation that he now owned, Draco controlled the urge to curse out loud. He had not realised when he zoned out while staring it her.

"Still dreaming, are we?" he sneers.

"Hey, now," she says, smirking slightly, "I wasn't the one staring at you for the past seven minutes straight. I mean, I don't blame you; I must be a joy to look at after being around Parkinson for so long-"

"Blimey, that's just getting old," he remarks pitifully. "And shut your mouth, I am trying to concentrate. It's bad enough we have to share a table."

"Yeah, it's terrible sharing a table," Margaret says, getting up from her chair, rounding the said table and sprawling on the seat beside him. She grins when he looks up in disbelief. "But some things can be worse."

"Are you serious?!"

"No, I'm Margaret."

She chuckled when he groaned and buried his face in his arms, seemingly done with her antics.

April had passed rather in a blur of studying, mostly with Neville because he was the only calm-headed one at this point, and D.A. meetings. It had been nearly three weeks after Fred and George's birthday.

The two had not exactly decided to meet in the library a few days later. They simply happened to be there one afternoon during a free period.

She decided to take pity on him just this once, knowing that he did not understand her very serious joke. Chuckling to herself, she used one of her books to pull the open copy of Toujours Pur: La Terre towards her.

If it was already opened, she could read the text in it without having to touch it. Moreover, it was a joy to irritate Draco by asking him to flip a page for her. He truly felt like a servant for being asked to do so, and he usually just closed the book out of annoyance.

"So, what have you found so far?" she asks conversationally. "Hang on - what's this? Have you been vandalising my book?"

"I have better manners than you, I'd never write in margins. Are you seeing things now?"

"No, look. It's not printed, it's handwritten," she says, jabbing him rather sharply with her elbow.

He jumped up immediately, glaring at her. "Don't you dare put your filthy hands on me," he grits out.

"Sorry, your majesty," she retorts. "Now will you look at this?"

Draco shot an uninterested glance at the book before shifting his chair away from hers. In case she tried to assault him again.

"Yeah, so? It's not French or Latin."

"No, Captain Obvious," she snaps. "It's German."

"How'd you know?"

"Because I can read German, Draco," Margaret tells him, causing him to frown doubtfully. "It says, Für das Größere Wohl..."

"And what does it mean, oh all-knowing Seer?" he makes a show of saying, slightly perplexed when Margaret did not retort, only stared at the sentence rather intensely. Snapping his fingers in front of her face, he calls, "Xenakis?"

Margaret felt as though a bucket of ice-cold water had been poured down her back as she read the German slogan. She blinked out of her reverie, her mind suddenly whirling a mile per minute. Für das Größere Wohl was a motto. And not one for a good cause.

Why would have someone written it there?

Grabbing the parchment and quill he was using, she rewrote the sentence first in German and then translated it to English.

Draco read it, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. He did recognise the words; he had heard it before from the times his grandfather had told him of the war in his time. He glanced up at her sceptically.

"Are you sure that's what it says...?"

"You've been translating this page, haven't you?" she asks urgently, not answering his question. "It's entirely in Latin and-"

"Ancient Runes. It's the last bit of the third part," he finishes. "Yes, I've been translating it; not lounging like you," he adds as an afterthought.

"What does it say?"

Draco shot her a nasty look. "I am not your serv-"

"Oh, honestly! Can't you focus for one moment?" she says sharply, glaring at him. "What does it say?"